The Little Prince and the Demon
by Jeow
Summary: I was just a little boy when he came to me by moonlight. With a song still on his lips, I asked him what he was. I am a demon, he replied, and I've come to take what's mine...Reposted
1. Moonlit Sleep

"Little Prince"

by Shojo Kamui

(Based on the legend of the princess and the demon from Haruko Iida's 'Crescent Moon'.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Crescent Moon or Yugioh in any way.

Will be rated X in the future due to content such as: explicit sex scenes, incest, violent character death, and a strong possibility of cannibalism. Yes, cannibalism. I shit you not.

Also, it'd be a little strange for the two Bakuras to have the same name so I'm changing Ryou's last name to Kanzaki. Hurray for Escaflowne.

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"_My little prince, why are you up?" _

I struggled to decide what had happened, my head full of cotton. Logic is not always the immediate answer for children, and I was so sure then that he wasn't a dream. I recall blooming flowers with bursting, lush petals; but it's all a heady blur.

"_I think someone was talking to me…"_

I climbed into her lap and breathed in deeply the comforting smell that only a mother can have. Her skin and clothes were laced with smoky incense and burnt candle wicks, the familiar offerings made to calm one's soul.

"_Who was talking to you, little prince?" _

My small hands grabbed the rosary beads that hung around her neck, polished smooth from worrying.

"_A demon…Yeah, that's what he was…"_

I nodded my head assuredly.

My mother turned pale.

"_What did he say to you, little one?" _

She became stiff, as if she had seen a ghost. What was wrong, mother? Wasn't it just a dream?

"_He said he wanted me to marry him. Isn't that silly?" _

"…_Yes…" _

Why did she hesitate?

"_Yes love, it's very silly. What did you tell the silly demon?"_

She sounded so frightened.

"_I told him, 'A boy is supposed to marry a __girl.__'"_

She stroked my hair, and I felt her cold hands tremble.

"_And what did he say to that?" _

I played with her long, white hair; smooth and bright like polished silver.

"_He told me he still wanted to marry me, and that he didn't care that I was a boy."_

"_So what did you tell him?"_

Her hands stilled.

"_I thought about it, and I said that I didn't want to because I didn't really know him." _

I yawned tiredly.

"_And, people who get married should love each other. But, then he said that he loved me more than anything, and that he was sure that I would love him, even though I didn't know it yet."_

I frowned.

"_So, I got angry, and I know you tell me never to be angry with someone, but I could help it." _

I stood up on the bed and shook my fist and empty space.

"_I told him, 'Well, I don't love you now, and I don't want to get married!'.  
_Looking at my mother, I didn't notice how still she'd gotten, as if she already knew the ending to my story.

"_But then he asked if it would be okay if we got married later, when he was sure that I loved him."_

I flopped down, my arms and legs spread out like the Vitruvian man.

"_And I told him I didn't know how long that would be, so he got upset and made an angry face like this."_

I scrunched up my face and frowned greatly. My mother began tucked me into the sheets so tightly I fought against the cocoon.

"_But then he stopped and asked if ten years would be enough."_

Tired, my voice dropped low and my mother drooped close to hear.

"_Ten years is a long time, you know, so I said 'Ok then, just like in the song, we'll get married in ten years.'"_

I was sleepy and my eyelids drooped with effort to keep them open.

"_What song?" _

She held me so tight it hurt. I pushed away and onto the bed, wriggling into my sheets.

"_The one the demon sang when I saw him." _

She continued on, speaking softly, sadly.

"_Sing me the song."_

I fell asleep before I could utter anymore, and since then, the strange words to that song have been lost to me.

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

When I was little, I had a very vivid dream about a demon. He came to me with long, wild hair and eyes like lightning, and foolishly, I made a promise that after ten years I would give myself to him as a sort of bride. It all reminds of some old melodrama.

Soon after that, my family and I moved to England under the insistence of my mother.

You see, after she married my father, my mother disappeared for a month. Some thought she had run away, but none of her things were missing. So, others came to the conclusion that she had been kidnapped, but no one ever called about a ransom. Then, one day, out of the blue, she reappeared, rambling, somewhat injured, though when the wounds were studied they were found to be self inflicted. Mother refused to talk to any one of the shrinks father and her family sent her to, except for one whispered phrase: 'He'll come for it! Dear God, he'll come for it!' She was never right in the head after that again, and for some reason, Mother became highly superstitious.

Though no one ever addressed the subject directly while I was in their presence, I know that she was probably raped or something of the sort.

Or, perhaps she fell in with some strange lover with deep eyes and dark hair, and then became insane when he stopped loving her. I've heard such things happen.

It was about nine months after the incident that I was born. Some say that Father wasn't really my father, but he refused to get a DNA test, saying that no matter what, I would still be his son. Also, I looked so much like Mother, no one could really tell whether I was born of wedlock or not.

Mother was very protective of me, and secured spirit wards over my door and window.

Dear old mum took my dream for a real meeting between me and a demon.

She pleaded with my father, telling him that a demon would come and take me away. When that didn't work, she said that there would be better, more prestigious schools in England, half way around the world, and better sources to study and survey ancient Egypt, just as my father had always wanted to.

After a while, my mother won. Father almost always gave in, because he loved her.

Now it's ten years later. My mother died a few months ago of cancer. For the last few years, with chemo and surgery, mum became even more unstable and was hardly my mother at all. I miss her a lot.

Now my father has decided to reintroduce me to the country from which she came. We still own the house grandpa left us in his will, which was my childhood home.

I live here alone now, Father digging through the hot sands of Egypt with his son safely thousands of miles away, unable to remind him of his lost love.

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

This house is still the same in many ways, but different.

It smells musty, with no one to live in it and light incense and candles or cook. The magic that made it a home has long left this house. Sheets cover old furniture, making the scene into a snowy landscape painted by moonlight.

Only ghosts have lived here for a very long time. I don't suppose they're too happy I'm back. Even now I can hear their restless wandering selves whispering to one another. Ghosts are big gossips, you know; they don't have much else to do.

I swear I can almost catch a whiff of something like food or fire, awakened by memory. Tonight the moon shines brightly through my window, not yet full, but in a few days time, it will hang in the sky like a ripe, silver peach.

I like the moon.

She's so pretty and demure, and every month, she is reborn, so I can treasure her beauty when she is full. I sigh in contentment.

Wisps of steam hang in the air from my shower, but they are quickly disappearing, along with the sweet smell of my shampoo.

I bury my head in my pillow. I wish I never had to get up. My hands ache from clutching her rosary. I feel the glossy lacquered wood beads between my fingers.

The night is cool, and a comforting breeze blows through the open window. I like this place, floating between sleeping and consciousness.

I sense movement from something other than the wind and my instincts react. Through bleary, sleep doused eyes, I see a silhouette standing in front of the window, broad shoulders outlined by the moon's silver embrace. It comes towards me, and for some reason I am not afraid as I feel a kiss; something passes between my lips, and hands grasp my throat and stroke, making me swallow. It's a strange thing, soft like petals and bitter like wine.

My body feels on fire; limbs become heavy burdens. My head feels full of water.

There are soft kisses on my face and neck while calloused hands hold my shoulders; a stranger's body is pressed to mine, making me apprehensive.

But the arms are so warm and comforting, and loving hands stroke my hair. I'm floating again, adrift between gentle fingers and whispered words whose meanings are lost to me in this place of not-quite-consciousness. Is this a dream? A melody passes my ears, feather light in its dance. It seems so familiar…

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

I am asleep.

I dream of my mother. She weeps with my heart in her hands, my blood still warm running down her arms. She cries, '_My son! My son!'_

I dream of a boy named Malik, a classmate. He smiles kindly, like he did when I first met him. I like him very much. He offers me his hand, and I take it. He pulls me close and kisses me.

I dream that a man, with long wild hair and eyes like lightning, holds out my mother's holy necklace; the hand that holds it bleeds and crimson liquid flows in rivulets down his hand, the unstained glossy wood pristine. He looks into the night sky lit up by the full moon and sings as ten silver drops run down his cheek. He looks at me, and I wake up.

Hazy sunlight filters lazily through my window as my clock radio plays the sound of soft music. I get up for school, leaving the comforting warmth of my bed.

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

I am far away during English, and I am farther away during math. I think of my strange dream, and already it is time for lunch.

Yugi and his friends sit with me.

His eyes shine like bright amethyst, but I know he has suffered.

A darkness lingers in those eyes that he cannot hide from the likes of me.

I know he was lonely, and his own smile bruised his heart, but he kept the mask.

Maybe he did it to believe in the lie, or maybe he really did believe he could be saved. He is better than me in that way. Yugi hopes for the future, while I still linger on the present.

Is that why he looks so young? Perhaps the years can't catch up to him? Is that why he's all right now?

He seems so innocent. What would the boy be like if he should take a lover? I hope that never happens to him, and that he stays perfect.

Yugi, I hope you never fall in love and take a lover to your bed, because I've seen nothing good come from it.

His friends chatter on, and I've decided I generally like this lot.

Jounichi is honest and pure hearted; Honda is dependable and tells it like it is; Mazaki is kind and understanding.

And then there is Malik. His skin is dark, though his hair is light from the very same sun that darkened him. Isn't that ironic? I feel so odd compared to him.

It is true we both have light hair, but his hair is blonde, as if it soaked up the gold of the sun he was so fond of playing in as a child; my hair, however, is white, like my mother's hair, and my skin is white, like my father who was English born. Malik smiles at me, and I smile back. He is so mysterious and confident, and I am so shy and strange.

Class has started again, and at the end of the day, Malik asks to walk me home.

The sky rumbles, heavy with grey clouds.

"You might get stuck at my house if it starts to rain." He smiles in a way that makes my heart jump.

"I have no problem with that."

I accept his offer.

It's Malik that talks mostly, with a few words added in from me, but he doesn't seem to mind, and neither do I. It's nice, actually, and I discover that I really do like him, especially his ambitions to see the world on a motorcycle. We laugh, and I am content.

He walks me up to my door and I smile and stop for a moment, not knowing what do say.

"Thank you for being so kind to me. I sincerely hope we become good friends, Ishtar-san." My politeness is a habit that makes others uncomfortable at times, but I can't help it.

Malik takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing me considerably close to him.

The other boy's pretty lips turn up in a sly grin, full of audacity. His eyes seem to burn with an emotion that is unfamiliar, and pools of lavender make me tremble.

Do you know that sensation when something so cold touches your skin that it feels like you're burning? I feel that now.

"I sincerely hope that we can become more than friends."

Why am I attracted to him like I am? Aren't boys supposed to like girls?

The demon didn't care. Should I?

The sky flashes, and soon after it roars. Water pours down.

I pull away and hastily push my key into the door. My face feels hot and my arms feel tight. Chest pounding, I quietly speak up.

"D-do you want to come inside?"

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

He sits in the living room, and I get us some tea.

"Tell me Ryou-san, do you live here alone?"

I want to tell him about the ghosts of the past, about how they whisper to me about the memories of this house that people have long forgotten. I want to tell him about the darkness who comes to me at night by the light of the moon. I want to tell him how my heart pounds when the shadow-man comes for me. But I don't.

"Yes. My father is staying in Egypt at the moment."

I set a white porcelain cup before him, beautiful in its frail perfection.

"And what about your mother?"

He leaves his tea before him, and I sip the hot, bitter drink with no milk to cool it.

"She passed away a few months ago."

"Aren't you lonely?" His eyes are sympathetic.

"Sometimes, but I don't mind being alone…" He suddenly touches my wrist, making me jump and spill hot tea on my hand. I wince.

Malik puts his lips to my hand and starts to lick where I was burned, his tongue rough like a cat's.

"Ryou…"

I've never heard anyone speak in a hushed, desirous way towards me. He pulls me into his lap. My heart beats so hard that I'm not sure how it's staying inside my chest.

"Ryou…"

A sultry voice makes me unable to think. His hands are slowly stroking my back, seducing in circles. His forehead presses to mine and I can no longer hide from lilac eyes. I hear harsh breathing, and am surprised to find that it is my own. My face sears with a blush as his lips touch mine.

First kiss; my heart pounds. Am I bad? Does he mean it? Do I mean it?

I feel his wet mouth, teeth grazing over my lips and making them feel too small.

I smell the musk that is his, like sweat and sunshine and grass and wind. I can't push him away, but then again, I don't really want to. Is this right? Do I belong in this boy's arms?

Malik straddles me, pushing hard against me. His lips work mine open, a skillful tongue coaxing mine to life. He's overwhelming.

His need presses against my stomach and thin hands find their way beneath the shirt of my uniform, touching and teasing skin that no other has touched.

We moan like one, and my own hands find their way to his skin somehow, feeling the smooth expanse of his stomach and chest.

I'm sure you're wondering if I'm being hypocritical because of what I said about Yugi. I'm not. Yugi is perfect; light in human form. I was born defective, or perhaps made that way long ago. It doesn't matter for me because I am weak. I do not fight.

He presses himself as close to me as possible and whispers, "You're perfect…"

Thunder sounds and startles me.

My eyes dart to look out the window as the sky flashes once more, the rain stopping. I feel my heart stop also when I see golden orbs, eyes of lightning, and I know it is wrong.

"Stop…Stop now!"

Mustering all the strength I can, I push the Egyptian boy off of me.

"W-what's wrong?"

He is disgruntled, his obvious need causing a substantial bulge in his loins, my own need mirrored by the tightness of my pants.

My lungs struggle to draw breath.

"I-I'm sorry. I can't do this. You have to leave."

I hurry Malik out the door, and I wish I could explain, but I know he wouldn't understand. I know he'd think I'm crazy. The door is shut, but my breathing has not slowed. My hands become fists, and I slowly look over through the window. I'm not sure whether I'm hoping to see or not see those familiar eyes. However, they are gone. Perhaps they were just a figment of my imagination, made up by my subconscious to tell me that I don't like Malik. I tell myself this over and over like a mantra, as if saying it over and over will make it true. My legs carry me up the stairwell and to my room. They feel as if they aren't a part of me.

I want so badly to sleep and forget all this confusion. I can smell him on me, his wonderful smell.

I lie in bed once more, happily embracing the softness of my pillow and comforter. It is simpler in this place before dreams. Here, there is once nothing to confuse my heart; no bedroom eyes and wet lips and eager hands. I hear the crickets chirp outside, and I bless the cool night air.

With his kiss, Malik stirred my blood and made me desire him. I clench the sheet tight.

I know he is here again.

And tonight, as I lay sleeping, he watches me.

I dream of hard kisses that make my lips bleed, and rough hands that make my body weep for more.

Long hair brushes against my thighs and I moan.

Arms wrap around me and hips thrust in a steady, maddening rhythm.

He causes a sensual pain between my legs, and I beg for completion as my dark lover grins.

I feel a wet, warmth within me and a long kiss.

I wake up to cold damp that makes me wonder.

Was that really just a dream?

_Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo _


	2. Demons Lurk in the Light

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh or Crescent Moon. In the following chapter I am using a song used in the 'Crescent Moon' manga.

Will be rated X in the future due to content such as: explicit sex scenes, incest, violent character death, and cannibalism. Yes, cannibalism. I shit you not. Not exactly for the squeamish. It'd be a little strange for the two Bakuras to have the same name so I'm changing Ryou's last name to Kanzaki.

_plplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplpllplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplplpl_

I apologize again and again, and I pray he listens. How charmingly his hair gleams gold in the brightness of the day. I can't resist.

The sun dissolves any doubt about if I like this boy, as well as the fear of supernatural things.

Malik looks at me in an understanding way and touches my gently on the shoulder, telling me it's all right.

"You've never kissed a boy, have you?"

I am a little struck by his question, but I nod. My cheeks feel hot.

"Have you kissed anyone at all?"

My body feels rigid. Malik laughs

"You're so cute. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable …"

"N-no, don't feel bad. I…It's not like I didn't like it…" I'm so nervous I can't think straight. He smiles with gleaming white teeth.

"Hey, do you have any plans tonight?" I look at him, slightly confused, slightly hopeful.

"N-no…" Malik was beaming.

"Fantastic!"

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

"How did you learn to drive a motorcycle?"

"My older brother, Rishid, taught me." He hands me a helmet.

The engine roars and I stop speaking, knowing it would be useless, and instead place the snug helmet on my head.

My stomach churns like I'm on a roller coaster, though I'm not sure whether it's from the motorcycle or being so close to Malik.

It could also be because a person is supposed to be eighteen before they can get their license.

He looks really good, and his clothes show that he is confident of how he looks; I'm almost embarrassed that I wore such plain, loose clothing.

It's actually the first time I've seen him out of his uniform.

I'm uncertain as to how much time passes. I close my eyes to keep myself from getting dizzy, but only succeed in doing the opposite. I pull myself closer to Malik's warm back.

After a while we stop in front of a less-than-reputable looking hole-in-the-wall bar. I'm glad I wore a jacket, the fast coming twilight also bringing a chill.

Malik leads me to the door, where stands a tall, built man with dark skin the same shade as my companion's and a tattoo of hieroglyphics covering all of one side of his face. They greet each other with a smile and a nod, and a slim hand pulls mine in through the darkened doorway, like the portal to the underworld that my mother tried to hide me from….

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

The inner workings are dark, a few dim lights here and there to add ambiance, I suppose. Nondescript jazz plays over the room.

There are many booths, with a stage in front that holds a drum set, three mikes, and a piano at the moment.

But through this silken black veil I can see bodies moving, in the booths. They hold shadowy counterparts close, kissing and groping, lying down without fear of discovery.

The only area that is lit up well is the bar at which another man with dark skin works; a stark contrast to the crisp white shirt he wears that makes him seem all the darker. He looks up at me from wiping a bar glass.

Though young, his face carries a harsh set mouth that suggests a long, hard upbringing. His eyes are dark and sharp, outlined with kohl I think; and on his right cheek are pale scars beneath his eye, one going down and two going across the first. It reminds me of a perverted cross.

His hair is the most remarkable thing about him.

It's so white. It's like mine, except it's a bit shorter and it doesn't make him seem at all feminine. It is unkempt, but fitting.

I think of my demon.

His eyes are severe as he looks at me and strikes me stiff like an electrical charge. My chest feels tight.

"Let's sit here."

Malik sits us at one of the booths, and I can barely make him out.

"What do you think?"

"What is this place?"

"It's a… music club… of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

His tone is mischievous.

"If you haven't noticed already, we offer a very 'private' atmosphere for those that are looking to disappear for a few hours."

The stage lights up suddenly, and I turn to look at it.

I didn't realize it was so close. The man from the front with the tattoo holds a bass, the bartender suddenly stands at center mike barehanded, and an elegant girl sits at a piano, also with dark skin and long black hair. Someone I can't identify is sitting behind the drums.

"That girl at the grand there is my sister, Isis, and the guy on stage left is my brother, Rishid. My cousin, Atem, is the drummer."

Isis starts off with a decorative intro, then Atem and Rishid follow.

The bartender is last, as if he's just being woken up by the rhythm and thrum of the instruments, and he sings.

He sings softly in a rumbling baritone, like distant thunder. His hands hold the mike like an old lover, and he tries to seduce her with words.

But, the melody…it sounds like a requiem…

A requiem for the living.

"_No rhyme or reason needed; _

_Only you. _

"What about him, the singer?"

I'm rapt. He's good. It's almost like his hands are running up my back. Something about his voice makes me feel…nostalgic…

"He's Bakura."

_Mind and body craves _

_My only saving grace…_

Arms encircle my chest and lips press to my ear, but my eyes are too busy watching another. It's almost as if he's looking at me.

Your voice…your eyes…do I know you?

Malik's tongue laps at the base of my neck as his hands slowly run over my torso, and his spell is cast once more. Oh, it feels so good…

"You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, Ryou."

The words seem careless; mocking.

I'm surprised by this feeling of mistrust.

Malik turns me to face him, lithe fingers in my hair.

"Am I?" I sigh, breathing in his scent again.

Oh, how could I mistrust this golden cupid?

_You let me watch._

_I am dead on my feet. _

_Do you have a heart, _

_Or are you deaf?_

"Yes!"

His voice is hushed and fierce, his eyes intense, and he kisses me hard.

My heart stops when I realize how detached I feel from him.

I feel his tongue and his wet lips, but…

Something isn't there. It's not right.

The more he kisses, the more this dissolving blackness fills me. Are all kisses like this?

I feel hateful.

What's wrong with me?

But then there is the shadow-specter; it holds me warm and close at night; every night bringing me to peace and turmoil at once…

I yearn for a creature that has yet to utter a word, or even reveal its true face.

Malik's body presses to mine, trapping me. My hands move on a whim through his gold hair, and it is like silk.

I love him. I'm sure of it. I have to love him.

What is this desperation to love; to be human?

Suddenly, instead of the cushioned couch of the booth, I am pressed to the table top. Malik looms over me, his lean body reminding me of a predatory cat, so smug and powerful. He pins my hands to my sides as he gives me a biting kiss, and I don't resist.

What can I do? My body is reaching for his. Only the demon can stop me now…

_What He can not see_

_Is that you are mine. _

One of his legs part both of mine as he crouches over me, getting his fill of the kill. Nipping kisses run over my neck and slender hands are intertwined with my own.

He doesn't care if anyone sees, and I don't suppose anyone else cares.

I hear the scarred man singing to me, and my body calls out.

I don't want him to stop, but…

This doesn't feel right.

_But he tells me, _

_To the victor _

_Go the spoils. _

_Can you tell me, _

_Who is winning?_

I feel too warm in my jacket, and Malik reads my mind, his fingers expertly removing it from my shoulders. He places his hands on my upper arms, and I place mine on his lower back. His abdomen presses to mine and I hear myself give a soft moan. He smiles, though I'm not sure if he's looking at me.

Malik moves his hands to my chest, and I start and gasp as he rubs my nipples through the fabric. He grinds his hips against mine.

_But I'd kill _

_To mark what's mine, _

_Tear flesh,_

_And you'll taste his blood. _

_Bones have been buried in malice_

_Before they're dead._

Is he watching us? Does he hate me?

Do you love him as I can not love?

My train of thought is broken as I groan, Malik grinding against me and slim hips making me stiff. I think he's looking at Bakura, but it's too dark to tell.

_If he touches what's mine, _

_His heart will be yours _

_On a silver platter, _

_But his head belongs to me…_

_This that even Delphi _

_Could not see; _

_I shall be Cassandra,_

_And you the king's fool…" _

I hear a soft applause, but I don't bother.

I'm too preoccupied.

Malik lifts my shirt and licks a nipple, causing me to gasp.

Isn't it funny how I go from never having kissed someone to suddenly allowing them to lick and grope various private areas?

He doesn't stop or even falter when Bakura walks up to him, but his lips are pulled from mine with a jerk of the back his shirt.

"What are you doing, you whore?" The singer's voice is ice.

"Mm, jealous?"

He dips his hips in a way that makes me moan louder. My face is flushed with desire and embarrassment. Was he watching this whole time? I pull my shirt down.

He pulls the blonde in close, his words absolutely toxic.

"Why are you doing this, Malik?"

Malik stops and nearly hisses as he looks at him, like a tomcat.

"What business is it of yours?"

I'm very uncomfortable.

I clear my throat to get their attention. "Malik, maybe we should stop…"

He looks back down at me, apologetic.

"I'm sorry about Bakura, don't mind him." He strokes my face and kisses me, but I still his hands.

"No, it's not his fault. I-I'm just…a little uncomfortable…I…I've never been…been in this position…"

Bakura laughs and Malik sighs.

"Are you sure?"

I sit up and give him a chaste, dry kiss on the lips.

"Yes, please."

With a sigh, he climbs off, looking at Bakura, and though I cannot see him very well, I know he looks at the scarred man with an air of smugness.

Bakura turns to face me.

He is a handsome man in contrast to Malik's androgynous appeal; muscular and lean instead of lithe and thin.

There is something about his hand and how hard his eyes can get that tells me that he has tasted blood more than once.

"And what is your name?"

His voice is soft and welcoming almost, but it holds a subtle bitterness that speaks of concealed anger.

"I-I'm Kanzaki Ryou…"

"How are you enjoying your time here, Ryou?"

He talks to me too familiarly by using my first name. Is it because he does not know better, or is he purposely disrespecting me?

Malik speaks harshly.

"Leave us alone."

Bakura doesn't break his gaze from mine. His eyes seem like dense, gray fog, but somehow I know that his mind clear and sharp.

"I was talking to Ryou."

It's hard to speak. Through the dark veil, his gaze is even more powerful that Malik's burning lavender pools. Is he angry?

"It's wonderful, from what I can see. You…you were especially good…"

I know Malik is upset. I didn't mean to make him that way. I just had to tell Bakura…

"Thank you…" He pauses for a moment, as if he is thinking something over.

"You seem like…an honorable boy, Ryou. What is your business with this harlot that I call my brother?"

I frown a bit at that.

"He's not a harlot …" He is so kind to me. He smiles for me and makes me laugh and feel at ease….

"…he's…I…I like it…"

Almost as quickly as the foreign word makes its awkward escape from my lips, I feel Malik's slender arms wrap around my shoulders, placing his hands on my chest and presses his cheek to mine.

"You hear that, Bakura?"

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

"He likes it." I can hear the grin in his voice.

Then suddenly Bakura laughs, softly at first, then it crescendos like a coming storm, loudly, horribly, spitefully, and he looks at me with strange eyes. I feel like cracking, because I know he's laughing at me. Bakura's face changes quickly to that of loathing, utter hate.

"I see. Malik has once more sung his siren's song to lure an unsuspecting victim." Words of venom.

"Let's get a closer look at you…" He leans in close, hands gripping the edge of the table, his nose almost to mine, and fear runs it's cold fingers up my spine when he fingers my face and grasps a shoulder. Escape is impossible. His thumb runs over my bottom lip, his knuckles brush over my cheek. He sighs into me and I feel him flushed against my body.

My heart pounds as his hands run down my arms, and I shiver; though not from fear. He is roughly jerked away by a seething Malik. Bakura seems to come to his senses and looks me over once more before giving his verdict.

"You're too frail for him. My brother likes it 'rough', to put it nicely, and I bet you'd break, in more ways than one, if he were to bed you."

For a moment, I see something like longing in his eyes, like how my father looked at Mother when she got too sick in the head to pay attention to him.

"You are beautiful though…I'll give you that much …"

He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something more, but then he straightens up and gives Malik a hard glare.

Then, he simply leaves and disappears…

"Malik, I think I should go…"

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

"Will you be all right?"

I hop off the motorcycle in front of my house and hand the boy back his helmet.

"I'm fine." He kisses me tenderly; at least I think that's what it is.

"Just forget about Bakura. We used to be together and he's been an ass ever since I broke it off."

So that's why…

"I'm really fine. In fact, I had a good time. But I am tired…"

"Of course, sleep well." How easily he leaves.

It's so cold I can't help but shiver all the up the walk way.

I feel eyes on my back, and I can't help but look even though I know no one is there.

Inside my room it is safe. Tonight I won't open my window, but I leave the blinds open to let in the moonlight when it happens to peek through the clouds.

The shower warms me and my bed comforts me, and I sigh. Bakura creeps into my thoughts.

And I dream about his snowstorm hair and deep eyes that seem to flash and crackle like lightning. In my dream, the demon comes to me with his face and sings.

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

I lie in a garden full of night blooming jasmine. Cherry blossoms and lilies drip of silver gilt under a full moon. The grass is soft and new under my back; and there he is, wearing crimson robes from days of old. The golden skin that stretches taut across his torso and the sculpted limbs of his legs is scintillating.

"_Do you remember how I told you that I would have you under the jacaranda trees?" _

I try to speak, but my voice will not come. My throat is dry. My body is so heavy and stiff, like it's made of steel and brick. I can't move. Only my eyes can roll in their sockets.

I look around and can't believe that I didn't notice till now that we are almost cradled by the drooping branches, the bursting diamond purple blossoms fragrant and decadent, crowding the willow-like tree.

Silhouetted in his cloak of blood by his graceful gleaming mother, the demon looks strange, yet at home in this garden of green leaves and black skies like ink; a garden of purple and blue and white blossoms; this garden with the trunks of trees that are smooth and gnarled, black and snowy, hard and pliant, all at the same time. He is the cold, unmoving sandstone centerpiece in a garden of dreamy unreality.

He stands above me, an imposing figure. It's more like he floats over me, like he's in mercury.

Clouds pass over the moon, and I think it is Selene throwing a silk scarf over herself to hide her face from _him_, her own child, afraid of the monster she's created who looks with ancient eyes through a youthful face.

Those very eyes peer into mine; taunting, coaxing, wanting, hating. A world of silver darkness lies behind those pale eyes.

His bloodstained hands touch my cheek so softly. So lovely and wonderful.

I could swear your touch is loving.

Though I can not see his face well, I'm sure it is _him_.

Do you love me, demon-Bakura?

My heart cries for him.

"_You've betrayed me." _

His voice is low.

I am a rock; plain and common. Not hideous, not gorgeous; just existing in the background.

And how I want to laugh; I am so different from him and his world of night and silver and flowers and blood. Do we even exist on the same plane?

Besides, I was only a child then, with a child's understanding of love and promises concerning love. How could I have known that one day, I would come to kiss another with desire and forget him as I drank from the cup of lust; like lethe water from Hades?

I wish so very much to talk to him, but I feel so drugged and languid. My lips move slowly and somehow I spit out words. I feel queasy.

"What are you, Bakura?"

I hear my own voice, small and whispered. My voice is cracking. I am almost surprised that he can answer so evenly.

"_I am a demon." _

His voice is harsh wind and hard and dark like an obsidian lake; polished and glimmering and sharpened.

The moon shines full through the clouds. Gentle light reveals bright, white hair; as thick and wild a mane as I remember it from childhood.

"Why am I here?"

Fingers brush against my broken mouth.

"_You are here because I love you." _

My chest tightens. How could he love a wraith like me, who can not love as he kisses?

"Why do you love me?"

"_Because you are beautiful." _

Beauty. That word could hardly apply to me. It is him that is beautiful, my demon-shadow.

"_More beautiful and perfect than you could ever know." _

I will my hand to move and it twitches slightly.

He has come to me every night since I set foot in the land of my mother, coaxing my heart into his hands with a loving embrace and sweet, whispered words.

Why is it he twists my heart this way with such pretty words, making me think I could love and someone could love me? I feel the twisted, sinking blackness rise in my throat like bile. I feel hate.

"Do you come to torture me?"

He leans down and speaks quietly into my ear, mirthful.

"_What if I do?" _

My eyes shift up to look up at his face, the silver of the moon casting a silver dust over his dark skin. The familiar scars run across his faultless skin.

I want to run my finger and tongue over that strange cross.

Lips smile almost maliciously and slightly elongated canines push against his bottom lip. His eyes; sharp knives that stare at me. I can't bear to look at that face, that hideous, dazzling face.

I wish he would stop teasing me this way. It hurts more than words can describe. Tears push hotly out of my eyes. I am a stone that cries.

Perhaps if I cry enough tears, I will make a spring out of myself and drown.

Fingers that are not mine wipe them away gently, and the demon sings. I wish he would go away.

"_Little prince, little prince,_

_Why do you cry?" _

Words long dormant bubble up from my lips, and though I sing, it is not of my own accord.

"In a forest painted by the setting sun,

I made a promise to a demon boy

That when the full moon ascends the sky in ten,

I will be his."

You were the demon, weren't you Bakura? This isn't a dream, is it?

"_Little prince, little prince, _

_Why do you laugh?" _

His voice is a velvet smooth baritone. His thumb and forefinger take my chin almost roughly, and I sing back to him. My lips are dry; I feel a crack with every vowel and consonant formed.

"Veiled behind the smoke of incense,

The priestess explains that

She'll hide and protect me,

Just as clouds do the moon in a hazy sky."

He strokes my cheek lovingly as he sings again.

"_Little prince, little prince, _

_Why are you scared?"_

And I realize that I am scared, more than can be described by 'fear' or 'terror', but my bleeding lips part. This can't be my voice.

"In the far off reaches of the highest mountains,

I hear the cries of a demon boy,

That if lovers are as fickle as the phases of the moon,

Then I surely shall capture and devour him."

I remember him, and his demon song.

He told me it was a prophecy of our future, of how we would be separated for a time. However, in the end, we would be brought back together under the moon, heavy with snowy light like a pregnant mother.

"Have you come to devour me, demon?" I stare wide. Is this my fate, to be devoured by my would-be groom?

"_Yes I have, my marble bride …" _

He laughs so slick and thick and warm and clear; honey and rain. He teases me.

"_Fused with breath and blood; but what soul would want such a cold home?"_

My own throat is parched, and I am able to produce sound no longer beyond a few raspy breaths. I don't belong here. This isn't my world.

A finger runs down my cheek, and my skin hurts. I feel feverish and sick.

It's as if this place, the flowers and the grass and the trees, are all exhausting me of life; feasting on my well being because I am not a part of their perfect world.

Fingers run thick through my hair, and I can feel warm breath on my lips, welcome like a drop of cool water.

"_Given life by a mortal mother and demon father…" _

He presses his forehead to mine. _"A bastard child of an unholy union; born out of necessity and mistake." _

His mouth is so close to mine that I can almost feel the welcome press of skin; like a phantom memory. Hands take my face between their palms. My eyes slide closed in anticipation, want, and thirst.

"_Oh, how I love you, my brother, my son…"_

And when he kisses me, it's too much. Everything crashes; the flowers, the trees, my heart and my body, split by lightning.

My eyes are open so wide I think my eyes may fall out or the muscles cramp from strain. My nails dig so hard into my palms that they bleed from crescents. In an effort to try and draw air, my chest heaves, and I am cold; my body is ice and tin. My window is open wide, the screens torn open.

Plain white curtains billow; spectral dancers in front of the forbidden portal that was supposed to be locked.

Oh God…

I don't know whether I want him to be real or not.

Would you rather be insane, or haunted by a demon?

Oh pretty shepherd boy; is it possible that the wolf eats your flock because he is jealous of your love for it?

_Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

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